


i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

by agentmmayy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, You Have Been Warned, he there he just dead, my response to 6x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:45:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmmayy/pseuds/agentmmayy
Summary: Melinda and Daisy bury Coulson in Tahiti.





	i was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marvelthismarvelthat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelthismarvelthat/gifts).



> so! daisy's line of "we buried him" in 6x08 wrecked me! the show hasn't been giving my thirsty ass enough may and daisy lately so i'm filling in the gaps. huge huge thank you to alina who not only beta-ed this but also helped me write it <3 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Daisy arrives two days later. 

As soon as the quinjet lands, she’s barreling down the cargo ramp and straight into Melinda’s arms. Unprepared for the force of another body slamming into her, Melinda stumbles slightly, feet shifting in the sand, but she doesn’t hesitate to hug Daisy back. Melinda allows herself to sink into the embrace, allows herself to let go of the mask she’s wearing to push her nose against Daisy’s hair and close her eyes. Daisy is  _ alive _ . She’s here. She’s not alone anymore. 

Daisy trembles against her, breath hitching in uneven sobs that tear at what’s left of Melinda’s heart. She clutches at Melinda like a lifeline, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. It feels strange to wear something other than a bikini or sundress, but Melinda couldn’t bring herself back to the colorful clothing. Even though they’re practically fused together, Melinda pulls Daisy closer when the wind kicks up around them as the quinjet leaves. She tucks Daisy’s head to her neck, stroking the girl’s hair. 

After a few minutes, Daisy sniffles, pressing her face further against Melinda’s shoulder. In a small, barely audible voice, she asks, “Is he really gone?”

Melinda’s throat is too tight to answer. She nods and feels Daisy shudder a sob against her. It reverberates against her, settling against the steady ache in Melinda’s sternum that’s been there for the past two days. Melinda kisses her hair and holds Daisy closer for another few seconds before patting her back.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

The beach house feels strange without Phil. Melinda leads Daisy through the front door, unable to stomach going through the back. Foolishly, she expects to see Phil dozing on the couch or hear the steady hum of his oxygen tank but instead they’re greeted with an eerie silence. 

Melinda moves into the kitchen, Daisy trailing behind her. “Tea?”

“Sure, thanks. Cute place.”

Melinda only hums and flips on the kettle. 

“How are you doing?” Daisy asks as she takes a seat at the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone.”

“As good as I could be,” Melinda answers, busying herself with getting the tea bags so she won’t have to look at Daisy. If she does, Melinda won’t be able to hold it together. “How’s the team?”

It’s a question asked only for a distraction and Daisy sees right through it. Her tone is quiet, commiserating as she says, “May.” Melinda grips the handle of the kettle so hard her knuckles turn white. When seconds pass, Daisy clears her throat. “Uh, they’re good. They’re busy with working on the Zephyr.”

She nods but doesn’t give it a second thought. Instead, Melinda grabs the kettle right before it whistles and pours the hot tea. Without asking, she dumps three teaspoons of sugar into Daisy’s then picks the two mugs up. As Melinda slides Daisy’s tea across the counter, she asks, “How are you?”

Daisy’s laugh is humorless. She gazes into her cup, listlessly watching the steam. “Honestly? Not good.”

Her heartache pierces through the defensive veil Melinda put up, as it always has for the past five years. Every bone in her body aches with the desire to make things right, to soothe Daisy’s pain, but she can’t. There’s nothing left for Melinda to fight against for her. There’s nothing she can do now except listen and offer comfort. 

“How did he-?” Daisy swallows tightly. “Was it peaceful?”

Melinda nods. “We were on the back porch watching the sunset. I think he knew it was time. One minute he was there then the next,” she trails off, unable to finish. Her left hand tingles with the phantom feeling of Phil’s cold hand in hers. Melinda clears her throat, willing the tears pricking at her eyes away. She’s cried enough. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Daisy. Not now at least. 

Daisy’s lips tremble. She hastily swipes at a few tears that trickle down her cheeks. “I wish-” She can’t finish her sentence either, breath catching in a familiar way that precedes crying. Or maybe it’s because there’s too much to wish went differently in a situation like this. Melinda can at least fill in one of the blanks there. 

“He didn’t want you to see him go.”

“But he wanted you to.”

Melinda sighs. “This isn’t the first time-”

“Yeah,” Daisy interrupts sharply, keeping her gaze cast down. “I know.” Blowing out a breath, she swirls the spoon in her cup around before asking, “Is it easier?”

Suddenly she’s back in her one bedroom apartment kitchen that afternoon, and Nick is at her door. Melinda clears her throat, grips her coffee mug tighter. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Daisy says, tucking into herself more as her breath hitches. “It’s just- “ She shakes her head, pinches her lips together until they’re white. “This is hard. Really, really hard.”

“Daisy,” Melinda begins softly. She reaches a hand across the counter that Daisy readily takes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” she says. “But I need to.”

Melinda nods. She doesn’t let go of Daisy’s hand. Neither of them drinks their tea. 

The mortician arrives at twelve on the dot. He’s a kind man with eyes that soften in sympathy, or perhaps pity when he sees Daisy as Melinda answers the door. Melinda’s gaze zeroes in on the hearse in the driveway. She quickly swallows the lump in her throat. “Out back, please.”

With a nod, he walks off the porch and to the car. Melinda glances back at Daisy before she follows, closing the door behind her. The mortician is unloading the hearse as she nears, carefully lifting out a coffin. Melinda’s stomach turns at the sight of the dark wood. It isn’t the first time she’s seen the casket. After all, she picked it out, but it’s the first time she’s seen it knowing that Phil is in there. 

He doesn’t ask for her help which she’s thankful for. Instead, he wheels around the house, following Melinda’s lead. She gestures to the grass by the bottom steps, and he sets it down, leaving the wheel dolly. As he does, the mortician takes a look around the porch, seeing the two shovels propped up in the sand and turns to Melinda. “It’s not too late to make further arrangements.”

“This is something we need to do ourselves.”

He nods. Melinda signs what feels like a hundred documents before he leaves. She doesn’t hesitate to go back inside. Melinda’s taken enough moments for herself in the past two days. Daisy needs her now. When she re-enters the house, Daisy is still by the kitchen counter, not pressed up against the glass door like Melinda thought she would be. A vase on the nearby side table rattles slightly when she turns to Melinda. 

“Is this even legal?”

“Enough money makes everything legal,” Melinda says point blank. She hesitates in pulling the door open as Daisy nears. Part of her wants to keep Daisy in the house, shield her from what they’re about to do. “You ready?”

Daisy’s eyes gloss with tears when she sees the coffin. Melinda is about to send her back inside, comfort her, reassure her that she doesn’t have to do this when Daisy squares her shoulders and steps out of the house. They load the coffin up silently, grab the shovels, and begin to walk. Neither Melinda or Daisy spare the time to process what they’re doing. They can’t yet. 

Before first arriving in Tahiti, Daisy went ahead and not only bought the beach house but the property surrounding it at Phil’s insistence. It’s on a private beach, miles away from neighbors or another town. Even when they leave, he won’t be disturbed. 

With a few days of napping in the sun and enjoying the beach under their belts, Phil insisted they go on a tour of the property. Melinda agreed. She had already scouted it out when they first got there, out of habit more than curiosity, so she followed, walking hand in hand through the sand and grass they grew thicker further in. Only about halfway through their walk did she realize what the purpose of it was. 

The area Phil picked is secluded, much like the rest of the island. It’s far enough in where the tide won’t wash the sand away, at least not for a long while. There’s a little clearing covered in lush grass and surrounded by tall palm trees that swing in the breeze, letting in thin slivers of sunlight and shade through the fronds. It’s beautiful in the ironic way that most burial places are. 

They set the casket down before a few of the trees. Only then does it seem to register in Daisy’s mind.  _ He’s in there _ . A sob wells in her chest but she pushes it down. Fingers trembling, Daisy reaches for the edge of the casket, but a firm hand on her wrist stops her. She turns to see Melinda. The older woman’s face is unusually expressive, tinged with sorrow. 

“Your last memory of him shouldn’t be this.”

Her lower lip quivers. 

“Daisy-”

“May. I can do it,” she insists, hating how her voice wavers. “I need to do it.”

There’s a brief pause before Melinda squeezes her arm. “Alright.” 

With that, she hands Daisy a shovel. 

The sand is soft but becomes harder the further they dig. Tiny granules of rock, shell, and sand scrape against the shovels with each push, loud above the sounds of the island. It’s easy to lose oneself in, but the presence of the casket feet away is a constant mental block from allowing Melinda to dissociate. Melinda clenches her jaw and digs the shovel deeper into the sand. 

The burden of losing Coulson is almost overshadowed by the burden of caretaker falling onto Melinda’s shoulders. She isn’t blind to the fact that she’s become a mother figure for her team in the past few years, just like Coulson was considered a father figure by so many. But now she no longer can share that responsibility with him. It’s all on her. For a split second, Melinda imagines the handle of the shovel to be Phil’s throat and grips it tighter. She wants to go back, back before Tahiti and even before time traveling to knock some sense into him. She wants to scream her frustrations. She wants to ask  _ why did you give up so easily? Why didn’t you fight? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave us? _

She jabs the shovel harder into the ground at that thought. Not only did Phil leave them, but he left them  _ hurting _ . There’s nothing more that Melinda hates than seeing her team, her family, hurting. The worst thing is she can’t do anything about it. 

Melinda is regrettably familiar with grief and all it brings. She’s lost before, lost too much to count yet somehow too little to mourn. Daisy, on the other hand, has only faced this level of loss once before with Lincoln. She watches as Daisy stabs at a hard clump of dirt until it dissolves into dust. Around them, some of the trees shake harder than the breeze is blowing but Melinda doesn’t comment. 

Daisy brings her shovel down harder, channeling her frustrations. 

Between time traveling, saving the world, Coulson telling her he was going to die, and then waiting for his imminent death, anger began to brew in her. The last few months she had with Coulson were spent either in space fighting for their lives or on earth chasing down any possible leads to prevent the apocalypse. Daisy hardly got to talk with him, much less see him. It hurts knowing that she can never get that time back. It makes her  _ so  _ angry. 

The hole steadily becomes deeper. Daisy’s arms begin to ache, but she doesn’t care. She drives her shovel into the earth again. 

When Coulson first told her about his condition, she immediately began to play the blame game. It was Radcliffe’s fault for making the damn LMD’s in the first place. It was the Rider’s fault for burning through the last of the GH. It was Coulson’s fault for not telling them. Then Daisy shifted the blame to herself. If she had only noticed sooner, or if she had tried harder to get him to take the Centipede serum, or if she had found a different way to save him. But she did nothing. 

Part of her wants to blame the universe. She wants to come face to face with whatever omnipotent power that’s out there and scream her frustrations. She wants to ask  _ why _ . Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way, but they’d all been dealt shitty hands, Daisy, the most. All the universe has done since she was born is take and take and  _ take _ . It doesn’t seem to want to stop either. How much more does she have left to lose? How much more can she  _ bear  _ to lose?

Her anger morphs into self-pity. Daisy laughs wetly as she stabs at the dirt. “Just a few months ago, I was digging one parent up, and now I’m burying another.”

Guilt crashes over Melinda like the waves down the beach. Here she was, steadily nearing sixty with both parents alive while Daisy was half her age and dealing with losing another parent yet again. She shouldn’t have to shoulder this burden so young. Daisy had been through more than enough already, but here she was, gaining blisters on her hands as she helped dig her mentor’s, practically her father’s, grave. 

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” Melinda agrees. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

It doesn’t take much longer for them to be standing in a hole that’s six feet long and six feet deep. Melinda jumps out before Daisy can even think of doing so. She hauls the casket over, ignoring how her aching leg protests. 

When it’s at the edge, Melinda peers around. “Ready?”

They try and make the process as mechanical as possible, but Melinda doesn’t miss Daisy’s muffled sob when she lowers the coffin or how her fingers tremble around it. Melinda grits her teeth from the exertion but also from seeing Daisy so distressed. Together they lower the casket down. It settles with a dull thud that resounds around the space. It’s too much to handle. Daisy quickly boosts herself out of the grave, landing on her hands and knees in the grass. The sensation of the cool blades sliding between her fingers helps to calm her racing heart. She breathes in, then out, pushing through the desire to just curl up and cry. 

Daisy turns around just in time to see Melinda leaning over the casket, hair brushing it as she stands. An errant beam of sun catches on a faint outline of a kiss pressed to the dark wood. Melinda’s standing straight now but makes no move to leave yet. Instead, she lingers by the coffin. Daisy watches as Melinda drags her fingers up to the top, stopping to rest her hand on it, right above where Coulson’s heart would be. The realization makes Daisy’s throat tight. She knows she’s intruding, but can’t take her eyes away. 

After a moment or two, Melinda turns and looks right up at Daisy who stares back before regarding the hand the older woman sticks out in confusion. 

Melinda huffs. “I’m gonna need some help here.”

“Oh.” Daisy blinks. With everything happening, she had forgotten about Melinda’s leg. It wasn’t as if Melinda would tell her she was in pain, but Daisy still feels a tinge of guilt. She steps forward. “Uh, sure.”

Once Melinda is out, they pick their shovels up again and set to tossing the pile of dirt back in. A thought crosses Daisy’s mind as the first bunch of dirt hits the casket with a muffled  _ thump _ . This is it. There’s no going back after this, she realizes. There’s no last resort to getting him back once he’s buried. But, she lost Coulson the moment he decided to keep this secret from her, from  _ them _ . 

Daisy glances at Melinda. It seems like the bitter anger they both felt earlier has faded away. There’s still an intensity to which Melinda shovels the dirt, but it lacks any rage. Instead, she looks defeated, worn weary with grief. Daisy’s stomach rolls. She’s seen Melinda grieve before, far too many times now, but never this openly. It’s derailing to see the woman she once thought to be emotionless blatantly displaying her feelings. 

Ignoring how her palms burn, Daisy grips the shovel and continues scooping the dirt. 

They fall into a rhythm, one that Melinda recognizes too well. She can almost feel the cold breeze ghosting through the cemetery and the sour victory of the flash drive in her pocket. But then she was just burying an empty casket again, not one with his body inside. At least this time there’s no engraved headstone glaring down at her to remind her just what she lost. 

Soon the only thing left of the pile of dirt is a few stray particles lingering in the grass. They give the mound a few unnecessary pats with the flat of the shovels before standing back. Nausea grips Daisy at the sight of the grave. It’s too bare. 

“Are we- Is there a marker?”

Melinda shakes her head. “No.” There was already one in Wisconsin with his name on it. “He didn’t want it marked.”

Daisy frowns at the bare grave. “It feels wrong without one. Like we’re forgetting him.”

“We’re not,” Melinda says, voice thick. “We never could.”

“Still. There must be something.”

Then Melinda shifts. Daisy watches as she moves her hand to her back pocket, carefully pulling a neatly folded square of tissue out. Melinda’s fingers are steady as she unwraps it to reveal a single daisy. The tears that Daisy was trying to hold back burst forth, trickling down her cheeks one after the other as she stares at the flower. 

“A few days before,” Melinda begins, casting a sad smile to the flower. “He bought a bouquet of these one morning at the market. It was hard on him, not having you here. He wanted to protect you, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t miss you.”

Melinda holds the tissue out which Daisy carefully takes, cradling it almost reverently in her palm. Every inch of it is delicate from being slightly dried out, but the petals still feel like velvet underneath her fingertip. Suddenly Daisy feels ashamed for thinking that Coulson forgot about her for his last few weeks or just didn’t care about her anymore. It’s foolish, she knows, but old habits die hard, and her fear of abandonment is the most vicious one. 

“I-?” Daisy doesn’t even know what she’s asking. Any more words get stuck in her throat. She turns to Melinda, silently asking  _ what do I do? _

The older woman only offers a forlorn smile. “I already said my goodbyes.” 

It was her turn. Daisy looks at the grave and swallows before taking the few steps toward it. The moment the toe of her shoe touches the fresh dirt, she sinks to her knees. 

“Hi, Coulson.” No sooner do the words leave her, Daisy’s composure crumbles. 

She doesn’t even try to hold back her tears and shudders through each sob that forces its way out of her chest. To her surprise, it  _ hurts _ . She had become numb to the pain of crying this hard since May called days ago, but it returns with a vengeance. Being there, sitting above where Coulson is buried is almost too much to handle. So Daisy cries until her head hurts and her knees ache. 

She sniffles, clearing her throat, and directs her gaze to the flower in her hands, unable to look at the dirt. “I, um, read your letter after May called me. Thanks for Lola. Mack’s going to be so jealous.”

The laugh she tries to make falls flat. Daisy sighs and picks at the fraying tissue. “I wrote you back, but I didn’t bring the letter. Maybe- maybe next time I’ll read it to you.” Thinking about coming to his grave again so soon sends a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. “You- you were always my rock, ever since you pulled me out of my van, God, six years ago? You found me, fought for me. You wanted me when no one else did.” 

“You were the best Dad I could have ever hoped to have. I wish I could,” Daisy says. “I wish I could have told you one last time.”

“Don’t think I’m not mad at you though because I am and I’m not the only one who is. Sometimes I think May might try to bring you back just to kill you for leaving us,” she chuckles. “I don’t-” Daisy breathes out, trying to piece her thoughts together. “I don’t get why you did what you did. I don’t think I ever will, but I still love you. We didn’t say that enough but-” She swallows, feeling more tears drip down. “I hope you knew.”

Daisy drags her thumb through the spots on the dirt where her tears landed. She rubs the damp dirt against the pad of her finger before flicking it off. “You were right about May.” At that, Daisy hears Melinda shift behind her. “She’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but I’ll take care of her too. We’ll take care of each other. I love you.”

With that, Daisy lifts the flower from her cupped palm and brings it up to her lips, kissing it softly. A few tears soak the petals, but she doesn’t brush them away. Carefully Daisy pinches the stem and places the flower on the grave, brushing some dirt over so it won’t blow away. She sits back, wiping at her cheeks with her wrists. Inside, Daisy feels something slide into place. She'd got to say goodbye. Coulson couldn’t hear her, but the tightness in Daisy’s chest lessens. 

She lingers before standing up and walking back to Melinda’s side. Daisy is briefly startled to find Melinda’s eyes wet. When she reaches a hand out Melinda doesn’t hesitate to take it. 

Time becomes lost in the steady breeze and faint roar of the ocean. Melinda loses track of just how long they stand there, hand in hand, staring at Phil’s grave. 

Then it hits her, really hits her. Phil’s gone. And this time he won’t be coming back. A part of her hopes so, jealously hopes that somehow by another cruel twist of fate he’ll return. Melinda swallows back the shame she feels at that. Phil chose his fate, practically signed his own death certificate. He was satisfied with his choice in ways that Melinda doesn’t understand. 

The tears that gathered when she listened to Daisy spill over. She thinks back to earlier when Daisy asked if this time was easier. It isn’t. It’s worse. Part of her hisses that it was foolish to get romantically involved when she knew he was dying, but the other part of Melinda cherishes the handful of precious moments they shared here on the island. If she could go back and spare herself the extra pain, she wouldn’t. 

Just when she thought she ran out of tears to cry, Daisy feels her eyes watering again. It’s unnerving to see Melinda cry. Daisy had been so busy wallowing in her own pity and grief that she didn’t spare a thought for Melinda’s. While she lost a father, Melinda lost a close friend, one she’d known longer than Daisy’s been alive, a  _ lover _ . 

As she turns her head to the beach, the breeze picks up, blowing against the fresh tear tracks on her cheeks. Daisy shivers, feeling strangely cold in the warm island heat. For a moment she imagines Coulson’s arms around her in one of his hugs. They were few and far between in the past year, but Daisy cherished each one. But she’ll never feel that hug again. The gape in her chest reopens, the cavern there echoing with the enormity of the loss she faces in the freshly turned dirt before her. Coulson was her anchor. Without him, she feels like a buoy, drifting in the overwhelming and relentless sea of grief. 

But then Melinda’s hand tightens around hers as if she knows. While her presence isn’t an anchor like Coulson’s was, it’s a life preserver that Daisy latches onto. 

“He’d probably say something cheesy right about now,” Daisy says. “Or a movie reference.”

Melinda scoffs. “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking about Harry Potter right now.”

“It’s a sad scene! And we’re on a beach. I can’t help it.”

Melinda rolls her eyes, both resigned and fond. She shakes her head, breathlessly laughing. “You two...”

The wind shifts with the mood. The little makeshift family they made feels incomplete without Coulson standing beside them. Daisy swallows. “I miss him.”

“Me too.”

“How do we do this, May?” she asks, turning to face the older woman without letting go of her hand. “How do we go on without him?”

“We do our best to. It’ll never be the same, but,” Melinda says. “You’ll always have me.”

“You’ll always have me too.” 

Melinda tugs on Daisy’s hand, pulling her into a hug that Daisy melts into. She holds the younger woman close and presses her lips to Daisy’s temple. Daisy nuzzles against her neck, making it damp. Melinda’s tears drip into Daisy’s hair, but neither of them moves for a while. 

As they pull away, Melinda offers her hand again, lifting her other one to thumb at a stray tear resting on Daisy’s cheekbone. “You ready?”

Daisy squeezes her hand, meeting Melinda’s eyes with the same soft, understanding smile that Phil used to wear. She feels her breath catch and almost misses Daisy’s, “Are you?”

Melinda nods. 

“Goodbye, Coulson,” Daisy says before adding in a whisper, “Dad.”

“Goodbye, Phil,” Melinda says. “We love you.”

The wind picks up then, skirting across their shoulders in what Melinda dares to imagine might feel like some sort of hug. With a quiet laugh, Daisy leans into her and rests her head against Melinda’s neck, eyes slipping closed. Melinda pulls her closer, strokes her hair, and lays her cheek on Daisy’s head, gaze focused on the grave before them. Daisy’s words from earlier, the same ones Melinda had promised to Phil on his deathbed echo in her mind.  _ We’ll take care of each other _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to yell at me on tumblr at agentmmayy


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